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Her brows scrunched. “You like what?”

“Looking at you, without an inch of guilt or hesitation sneaking across your face.” He gave fast kisses to both her blushing cheeks before rolling off the bed and grabbing a pair of shorts from his suitcase. “Yet at the moment, I’m off to get something to satisfy that tiger in your stomach.”

She laughed as he pulled on a formfitting black T-shirt. “Easy there, Tarzan. Chasing down a wildebeest won’t be necessary. I just need some tea and fruit.” She curled to her side, one thigh hooked atop the sheet, tempting him with her half-exposed backside. “Can’t we just order something in?”

“Not a bad idea.” He lowered his lips to her mouth again. “But I’m introducing you all to the Baghdad site leader via web conference today, and I want to be sure the equipment’s ready to go. I’ll swing by the kitchens on my way back. You like fruity teas, right? With some lemon?”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t miss much.”

“No.” He got quiet with the reply. “I don’t.”

“Hmmm. Why do I think I should be worried?”

“Because you’re dying to give me something to flog out of you?” As her mouth popped open, he snickered. “Okay, here’s the agreement, then. No floggings today if there isn’t any worrying today. You’re forbidden to worry about anything for the next twenty-four hours. That includes all the self-doubts and all the internal back talk. Got it?”

“Is that a direct order?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed her hand, compelling her to look up into his newly serious gaze. “Actually, it is.”

She kissed his knuckles. “Very well, then. Anything else on that list, Sir?”

“Hm.” He trailed his hungry gaze over the curve of her thigh. “I can think of a few, but here’s the first. Don’t move. Be waiting for me, exactly like that, when I return.”

She broke into a giggle at that. The sound was kittenish, sexy, and adorable. She compounded the effect by rolling over to expose one breast. “Yes,
Sir
!”

He chuckled and groaned, then adjusted his hardness through his shorts. He remembered the first time she’d called him Sir, and all the different ways he’d fantasized about hearing the word trip off her lips. This reality beat every one of those dreams.

This reality was so fucking
right.

As he left the villa and headed for the resort’s main building, that resolve grew stronger. It was the reason he decided to take the beach route. But the sand wasn’t his destination because he wanted to hide his head in it. He needed to dig his feet into the earth as he delved his thoughts into the perplexity of Rose Fabian.

He couldn’t delude himself about the bullet train upon which they’d jumped. He knew damn well this wasn’t a conventional way to court a woman, that humans were complex creatures, with women the most dazzling examples. Knowing someone after four days was supposed to be impossible. But he’d also declared that he’d never be this fulfilled again. Alone was something he’d gotten used to, even content with. Alone had always felt the better choice over the silly come-ons and flirtations on the Hill—even during the times it became loneliness. Lonely was better than empty. He knew at least that much.

Rose filled the emptiness. Overflowed it. And damn it, he was good for her too.

He wasn’t delusional. He knew they’d only started a foundation here. He knew the world, especially the media, would label him a sex-starved lecher, her a scheming status seeker, and both of them a pair of fools who’d let island breezes and mai tais get the better of them. More importantly, he knew Rose still didn’t buy that a Dominant/submissive relationship could be normal or right, even if destiny had smacked her full in the face with it. Could he blame her? On the sole occasion she’d opened up to someone about her “alternative” tastes, the bastard turned tail and left her at the wedding altar for it.

But best as he could figure, that incident wasn’t the first time Rose had been made to feel a fool for who she was. Her self-inflicted brain beatings were the result of being held up, time and time again, as the cautionary tale for a social elite who maintained their power on threads of disapproval, censorship, and a social code as obsolete as it was ludicrous. And the more he spoke to her, hearing how ingrained that shit was in her psyche, the more he guessed that the ones feeding her this diet of degradation were people on an intimate basis with her insecurities and emotional triggers.

In short, her family.

Much like the storm clouds still strung in the sky, that last conclusion wove a mixture of light and darkness across his thoughts. Yet just as the rising sun promised to burn them away, so did the next image that filled his head. He saw Rose at the crest of her climax this morning, crumbling for him, blinking at him with eyes awash in tears of joy and realization. It was so right. It was so significant.

A chuff slipped out. The irony of the impression didn’t escape him. He’d accomplished much as a senator, crafting laws that helped millions of people, serving on committees that influenced millions more. All of it fell in the world’s textbook definition of “significant.”

All of it turned to dust when he thought of Rose after that orgasm. Her smile graced the face of a submissive who’d discovered her power for the first time in her life. In letting him have the control, and therefore all the worry, she’d given
herself
the freedom to explore her deepest passions, her wildest arousal.

And somewhere between surrender and freedom, she’d found something even more amazing. Herself.

A grin started in his chest and made its way to his lips. Significant? No, even that wasn’t a perfect qualifier. Rose was his revelation. His miracle. The key that had unlocked his own power again. And if the world didn’t understand that, then it could kiss his rock-hard ass.

He broke into a jog as he headed toward the lobby. It was time to be in a hurry. His beautiful submissive was waiting for him.

Chapter Twelve

Maybe
, Rose thought,
I’m stuck in another reality.

If so, she never wanted to leave.

She stretched and sighed between the sheets, giggling when realizing she’d just sniffed all the pillows simply because they still smelled like him: a little bit of wind, a little bit of spice, a hell of a lot of man. After finding the one with the strongest scent, then going a little light-headed because she breathed too deeply, she tossed the thing to the side. The ceiling fan overhead turned lazily, making her dizzier. Or maybe that was the whirl of her thoughts.

“All right,” she muttered. “Admit it. You’re smitten.”

She wanted to laugh at that too. She tried. A ragged sigh escaped, instead.

She was more than smitten.

Broadsided.

Swept away.

Terrified.

Yep. That about summed it up.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the words—no, the promise—he’d given her just a few minutes ago.
“We’ll talk about this. We’ll figure it out.”

Warmth suffused her face. But most importantly, it filled her heart. And inside that heart, three soft words resounded.

 “I believe you.”

Her breath hitched. She pressed fingers to her lips. Oh God.
Did
she believe him? Could she really break herself open for a man again? Not just a few selections of herself either. Unlike Owen or anyone before him, Mark wanted everything. Could she turn over
all
of herself,
all
of the time, and expect to be accepted, treasured, safe?

The answer to that, in either direction, turned her into a frozen block.

The phone on the nightstand blared into her reverie.

She forced steadiness to her hands. “Stop it and chill. They’re looking for Mark, not you.”

Sure enough, after half a dozen rings, the caller hung up.

Thirty seconds later, the rings began again.

She used the bathroom, determinedly ignoring them.

On the third attempt, she glared at the contraption. “It’s called a cell phone. He’s got it in his pocket. Did you think of using
that
number?”

When round four began, she sighed—until thinking it might be Mark himself, calling and needing her for some reason. Or—shit—maybe it was an emergency from Washington or from GRI that couldn’t be trusted to cell lines.

She dived for the receiver.

“Uhhh, good morning. Senator Moore’s—”

Now what? Senator Moore’s office? Villa? Den of decadent Dominance and submission?

Just like the white-hatted cowboy he evoked, Brandt Howell took over the line. “Mornin’, Ms. Fabian. My sincere apologies for cuttin’ in so soon after sunup, but the senator didn’t want to be disturbed last night, and gave me his cell to monitor for calls. About a half hour ago, damn thing started goin’ off wilder than a fire alarm in a hay barn at a fireworks convention. Didn’t recognize the number so I disregarded it at first, but apparently the bastard got hold of it from someone high-up at GRI, and the shithead hasn’t stopped since.”

“What is it?” Her heart stopped, picking up his uncomfortable undertone. “The senator will be back in a minute, Brandt. Has something happ—”

“Actually, Ms. Fabian, the caller’s looking for you.”

“What?” Her pulse returned, but it sped with trepidation. “Me? But how does anybody know I’m…uh…”
Lying in the man’s bed with scrapes on my arms from where he tied me up, then gave me the best orgasm of my life?

“Hey, nobody else knows. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back as well as the senator’s. But this guy tried your cell a bunch of times and then got on the line to the hotel’s security team, who were also instructed not to bother the senator. So they routed him to me, and here we are.”

“Shane.” The word spilled out as the gears of logic clicked together in her head.

“Who?”

“My brother,” she explained. “The MO fits. He’s a little persistent.”

There was a commiserating snort from the line. “Maybe the senator should keep him in mind if he ever runs for office again.”

“Right.” She knew Brandt wouldn’t mind her inability to muster a laugh. At the moment, possible reasons for Shane’s urgency jabbed her mind like hornets, with the same reaction: a little irritation, a little fear. He was going through a lot of trouble to get to her, which meant he was wound up. And Shane never got wound up over
good
news.

“So you want them to patch the call through?”

“Yes, please.” She forced a smile to the words. “Thanks, Brandt.”

Through the next ten seconds, she pulled the covers tighter against herself and again reached for the pillow that smelled so much like Mark. She set her chin. Though there was no way for Shane to see that, she hoped he’d hear it. No, she’d make him hear it. If she couldn’t summon the strength for herself yet, she was going to be more clear, more determined, for Mark.

“Hello? Hello? Who the hell am I talking to
now
?”

She sighed. “Shane, calm down. It’s me.”

“Rose! Thank fucking God, at last!”

A giggle slipped out before she could stop it. “Wow. Congratulations, brother. You
do
know how to use the big-boy words.”

“Don’t start now, Rose.
Please
not now with the sarcastic sass. I’ve been trying to reach you for two hours on your cell. Where the hell are you?”

She swallowed and kept her chin up. “You know where I am. Apparently, you’re on a first-name basis with every member of the resort’s security team now too.”

“Who all tell me you weren’t answering the door at your room. So you know damn well what I’m really asking.”

“Wait. You sent them to my—” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I should’ve known you’d do that.” She took a steadying breath. “All right, so I’m not in my room. I’m a grown-up, Shane. And I’m not out in the middle of the beach with someone—”

“I should hope to hell not!” A rough scuffling filled the line. She practically saw him pacing his chic apartment overlooking the river, gazing out on the spectacular view but not even seeing it. “Sweet heaven, Rose, please tell me you’re being discreet. If word got out you’ve been sleeping around at this ‘training,’ well—”

“Well what, Shane?” Her spine went stiff, and she felt like a lightning rod of frustration got jammed up it. How many other times had she felt just like this, charred yet soaked, absorbing the jolts of his and Mother’s judgment? But that was her part to play, right? The one who always laughed too loud and smiled too wide, who felt too much and spoke too honestly. Because of it all, she’d cost the family an alliance that would have…

Gotten her a lifetime of the exact same thing.

Suddenly that loss didn’t seem so huge anymore.

“Spit it out, brother.” Oddly, Shane’s stunned silence made her smile. “Come on, tell me. Exactly what
would
happen if I decided to indulge in some ‘island delight’ with one of my colleagues? Maybe more than one? Isn’t that what everyone’s talking about, anyway? Isn’t that what you and Mother have been busy with lately, more ‘Rose damage control’? How many committees did Mother have to sacrifice herself to in order to make everyone forget I’m actually off—gasp—helping the world?”

She braced herself for his signature huff or perhaps the sneering laugh that Shane had perfected at one of the city’s leading legal teams through the years. When he gave her only thick silence, she got a little scared.

“Mother hasn’t had time for any more volunteer projects. She’s been filing for bankruptcy.”

She took her own turn for silence. Hers resonated with shock. “But how? Why?”

“Now stay calm. I’m having enough trouble keeping Mother tethered.” The huff finally came. “Thank God for sedatives.”

“Sedatives?” She felt her lips pursing as she echoed the word, her concern real. What was Shane getting at, throwing in a word like that? Her brother had more fathoms than the Mariana Trench, murkier now because of the real fear he’d stirred. Yes, Mother was childish and superficial, but she was still family. Their
mother
. “What are you saying? Is there an emergency? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine, Rose. Did I say she wasn’t?”